Anamorphosis
by Allonympt
Summary: Major Evan Lorne's life takes an unexpected detour, and the aftermath is felt by everyone. Warning: rated M for very strong language and sexual violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Anamorphosis**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: This is a fan production. I have no association with any of the folks or companies involved in producing 'Stargate: Atlantis' and I am making no profit off this bit of scribbling. I do, however, admire their work.

**_Warning_**: Some of you, I'm sure, are very devoted fans. Please forgive any errors I may make – I am not as familiar with SGA as I ought to be. This is not set at any particular time (though it is set earlier in the series...as I have actually never seen the later part) and it involves a lot of OC's.

It also involves the issue of rape – though I do not divulge any specific details, and may be discomforting to some readers. Please be aware of this. I am not entirely comfortable with this bit of fiction myself, as it was written unexpectedly in a furious emotional response to something I had read...and I do not wish to offend anyone. The characters may do or think things that seem inappropriate, but this is also a work of fiction and I am trying to contain a wide range of emotional responses.

Be gentle with me.

* * *

><p><strong>Anamorphosis<strong>

**Part one**

Lorne woke up. He was laying face down on a dirt floor.

What...?

Lorne woke up. He tried to get to his knees, but someone pressed him flat.

What the...?

Lorne woke up. Someone was panting like a bellows and his limbs were being yanked gracelessly in four directions.

What the fuck is...?

Lorne woke up.

"Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God." Someone was chanting hysterically.

Lorne's face was pressed against a warm shoulder that smelled like Atlantis soap. Lorne breathed deeply. His heart slowed and the strange, dull fog began to recede from his mind. He found the ground under his body.

"What... the fuck...is going on?"

Lorne woke up. His feet were dragging through the weeds, stumbling uselessly at the end of his boneless legs. His feet were bare. Why the Hell were his feet bare? Chatterton and Fox were dragging him between them. Lorne tried to get his feet under him.

"What...?"

"Stop helping." Chatterton growled. Fox aimed his gun and fired.

Lorne woke up.

"Awake, are we?"

Lorne rolled his head on his neck and blinked up at a nurse.

"How are you feeling?"

Lorne opened his mouth. The strangled, croaking noise he made shut him right back up. His mouth was as dry as the Gobi desert.

"I'll get you some ice chips," the nurse said, and disappeared from his sight.

There was a strange stain on the ceiling above his bed.

A hand touched his neck.

Lorne's body lurched halfway off the bed and he snapped at the woman like an animal before his conscious mind could form a single thought. She dropped the cup of ice chips and nearly went down on her ass. Her hand splayed protectively across her heart.

They both froze.

"Sorry," Lorne rasped after a moment. "Sorry. I don't...I don't know why I did that."

"Uh," the nurse crouched and swept the scattered ice into her little paper cup. "I'll just go get the doctor, shall I?" And she was on her feet and scurrying away from Lorne's hospital bed before Lorne could call "Wait!" at her retreating form.

Lorne huffed and pulled himself straight against the head board. His body let him know the movement wasn't appreciated. He ached all over. He looked down at his knobby knees sticking out at the hem of his hospital gown and smoothed the blanket self-consciously back into place. He must be on the good drugs. He felt strangely detached, as if his brain was floating above his body and peering out his eyes like binoculars.

"Well, Hell." Lorne told the stain on the ceiling.

"Major Lorne." Doctor Beckett said, and Lorne startled. "How are you feeling, lad?"

"I..." Lorne picked at the blanket. "Fine, I think. I'm not really sure. What happened?"

"What do you remember?" Beckett fussed at the machines next to Lorne's bedside. But his shoulders were tense, and Lorne thought he wasn't seeing a thing on those machines.

"Ah, we were off-world." And wasn't that an ominous start to every report about 'what went wrong'. "We were pretty relaxed – it was just a standard follow-up mission. The folks there were nice and accommodating: food, drink, and make merry and all that."

"You had something to drink, then?" Beckett had a tone. Lorne's nerves ratcheted up a notch. He hadn't heard a tone like that since he was a teenager and his mother had caught him sneaking back into the house through his bedroom window after his fifteenth birthday.

"No..." Lorne drawled, testing the waters. "I don't drink on the job. I had the sparkling fruit juice. Because it was sparkly."

Beckett was standing very still. "And after that?"

"After that..." Lorne paused. "After that...I...things get fuzzy. I must have...got my head rattled. I don't remember. What happened?"

Beckett sighed. His shoulders slumped. He sat down on the edge of Lorne's bed and took a deep breath. "You were drugged."

"Drugged." Lorne said flatly when the doctor didn't continue. "In the sparkly fruit juice."

"Yes." Beckett didn't rise to the bait. "They drugged you and separated you from your team." Beckett sighed again, obviously searching for the right words and just as obviously failing. "It was a form of...roofie."

Lorne blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Not Rohypnol, of course, because they haven't got that in the Pegasus galaxy, but the idea is the same. I mean, in the generic use of the term..." Beckett's teeth snicked shut and he gulped, hard.

Lorne stared at Beckett. His palms were sweaty. "You're going to have to spell this out in small words, Doc. I'm pretty sure we're working at cross-wires here."

"I..." Beckett grasped Lorne's hand and squeezed. "You were assaulted, lad. Sexually assaulted. I'm sorry."

Lorne snatched his hand back.

"I feel fine." He said, after a painfully long silence. "I mean, I don't feel..." Well. He didn't know what he was feeling.

"That would be a touch of shock. And the drugs they gave you were unfamiliar. We haven't given you anything else, because the drugs aren't clear of your system yet."

Oh. That explained the disconnect.

Lorne shifted his gaze back to his lap. He tried to figure out what he was supposed to do next.

"Ah, is there...things I should know?"

Beckett nodded, tension draining from his shoulders when Lorne didn't freak out and he was able to slip back into the role of physician. "You have some deep bruising and muscle strain. A couple superficial scrapes and cuts. There won't be any permanent damage. We've drawn some blood and we'll have to run some tests." Beckett paused. "And more tests in a few months. I recommend that you refrain from any sexual contact until we are sure there won't be any lingering issues."

Lorne could read between the lines. Beckett meant sexually transmitted diseases.

"Sure." Lorne said.

Beckett patted his leg awkwardly. "Good. Um. Do you need a moment alone?"

Yes. Desperately. "Please." Lorne said.

"Okay, then." Beckett said with false cheer. He leaped to his feet. "Holler if you need anything." He drew the curtain closed around Lorne's hospital bed. It was thin privacy. Lorne could still see the shape of him through the curtain.

Lorne stared at the blanket covering his knees. He felt completely removed.


	2. Anamorphosis Two

**Anamorphosis**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: This is a fan production. I have no association with any of the folks or companies involved in producing 'Stargate: Atlantis' and I am making no profit off this bit of scribbling. I do, however, admire their work.

**Writer's note**: For drama's sake, I'm going to move through this a lot faster than I really should – I'm going to cram months and months of emotional evolution into what will amount to only a couple weeks. That's a result of the flurry in which this story was written, and a lack of patience for long-term drama. Please forgive the obvious indulgence.

* * *

><p><strong>Anamorphosis<strong>

**Part two**

His team did not come to see him. This was not entirely unusual. They didn't have the same close relationship some of the other gate teams shared. They were all good guys, of course. Lorne would swear by any one of them. But they didn't spend their spare time braiding each other's hair, either.

Still, he would have expected somebody to drop by with a report. Yuri was always by the damn book, at least. He usually liked to report in to his team leader at the soonest possible moment.

Instead, Lorne found himself alone and with a great deal of time to think. By the next morning, he had worked himself into a black, black mood.

He couldn't remember anything. There was a great big gap in his memory that was taking on a life of its own. The longer he failed to remember anything, the worse his imaginings became. He couldn't even associate any particular ache in his body with what must have happened. He hurt all over, but he hurt all over whenever he took a beating.

Had he struggled? He remembered snapping at the nurse when he woke up, like he was going to bite her. He hadn't felt afraid, but he had never reacted like that before. Had he been fighting?

There were no bruises on his hands or wrists.

That was not a valid indicator of anything.

Besides, he'd been drugged. Beckett had said so.

Had he just lain there?

Had he...?

How could he not know?

He needed to stop thinking about this. It was a sucking black hole. If he went down that route, he really would freak out.

Jesus Christ, what if they had given him something? What did they have in the Pegasus galaxy? He didn't even know. This was...this was...

Too much.

Lorne flipped the blanket off and dropped his feet to the floor. His feet were still bare, he noted clinically. He had probably lost his damn shoes. The bastards had his shoes.

When he stood, the blood dropped out of his brain in a sudden whoosh and he swayed unsteadily. His hand found the wall and he waited for the spell to pass. He had been lying down too long. And the drugs. The drugs were still clearing his system.

When he had found the ground again, Lorne took a deep breath and pulled the curtain back.

The night staff had been quiet, leaving him to a broken, restless sleep with little interference. The day staff was a lot less accommodating.

"Major Lorne!" A young nurse snapped the folder she was perusing closed and rushed over. "You should be resting, sir. If you need anything, just let us know and we'll fetch it for you."

"Ah," Lorne deflected, and told himself she wasn't slathering him in sympathy – she was just doing her job. "No. I just thought I'd head back to my quarters now. You don't need anything more from me, do you?"

The nurse fluttered. "Dr. Beckett hasn't discharged you yet. He'll be here in a couple hours. Why don't you just lie back down...?" She cupped her hand solicitously around his elbow and Lorne's skin crawled. Not because he didn't like the touch – well, he didn't like the touch – but because her tone was all wrong.

Lorne was a good looking guy. He was polite, and confident, and he knew how to look a woman in the eye. Women smiled at him. They glanced up at him under their lashes and turned their bodies towards him when they talked to him.

The nurse was staring at his shoulder and her cheeks were flushed.

Lorne jerked his elbow away from her. "No," he said, a little too forcefully. "I'm going to my room. If Dr. Beckett needs me, he can find me there."

"Ah," The nurse fluttered after him even more frantically, but Lorne lengthened his stride and high-tailed it out of there before she could come up with some asinine reason for him to stay. It wasn't until he was in the corridor that he realized he was still in the hospital gown and bare feet. He'd forgotten to ask her for clothes.

Awesome.

Well, it wouldn't be the first time someone had wandered through the halls in the near buff.

Lorne squared his shoulders and put one foot in front of the other.

Two corridors and one transporter later, he decided whoever put the infirmary square on the other side of the compound from the personal quarters was an idiot. How was a person supposed to make a dignified escape if he had to tromp all over creation in a glorified nightgown to do it? Sheppard, surely, had put some thought into this issue. The man was always escaping from the infirmary. He was a regular Houdini. Lorne had never seen him walking through the corridors in his bare feet.

Sheppard must be keeping secrets.

The problem wasn't the walk. The last of the heavy, dulling fog had cleared from his head as he walked. The problem was everybody he crossed paths with kept looking at him.

It wasn't...they didn't know anything, obviously. Beckett was downright honourable when it came to things like doctor-patient confidentiality. And Lorne was wearing something that could barely be considered clothes. But...

Dr. Greenhorn nearly dropped his papers when the door to the transporter opened and Lorne stepped into the man's path. Dr. Michelson definitely dropped her eyes. And a couple of the marines actually stood at attention when he passed, which was downright weird given the loose standards of Atlantis and his total lack of uniform.

Lorne was feeling paranoid.

Sheppard was waiting at his door when Lorne rounded the corner. Lorne rolled his eyes heavenward. It wasn't paranoia if they were actually out to get you.

"Major."

"Lieutenant Colonel." Lorne returned in kind.

And Lorne hadn't thought it possible, but the man's spine curved even more insolently at the formality.

"Beckett radioed," Sheppard said when Lorne didn't give him an easy out. "Said you were on the lam."

Lorne waited to see if he would say anything further. Sheppard tried to stuff his hands in his pockets, then realized he didn't have any.

"How very considerate of him." This was some kind of evil revenge, for the number of times Lorne had been sent after Sheppard. Lorne just knew it.

Sheppard seemed to read what Lorne was thinking loud and clear. "Um, well, is everything okay?"

"Just hunky-dory, sir." Lorne said with false cheer, and wished-wished-wished Sheppard would move.

"Okay then. Well. You're off duty for the next two days."

"That won't be necessary, Sir. I'm fine." Lorne really did feel fine. He could be back on duty within the hour, if Sheppard asked.

Instead, Sheppard got this sour, cornered look on his face. It was a look Lorne had never seen the man wear before. "Take your damn time, Major. It's rare enough as it is. Come see me in two days and we'll talk about duty-time then."

"If you say so, sir."

"I do." Sheppard stared at him, and Lorne had no idea what the man was waiting for. Was Lorne supposed to pull a rabbit out of his ass, or start spouting sonnets, or what?

"Well, then," Sheppard said a little helplessly, when Lorne didn't do any of that. "I'll just...let you get back to what you were doing. Glad to see you up and about, Major." And with an odd little abortion of a wave Sheppard hustled down the hall like the place was on fire.

Paranoia, Lorne told his room when the door whooshed shut behind him. He was totally imagining things.

Then he slept like the dead for a solid thirteen hours.


	3. Anamorphosis Three

**Anamorphosis**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: This is a fan production. I have no association with any of the folks or companies involved in producing 'Stargate: Atlantis' and I am making no profit off this bit of scribbling. I do, however, admire their work.

**Writer's note**: This part is short and not sweet. The next part is longer. Also, the depressing end places? I didn't actually intend to end in a _bad-emotional-place_ every time, they just seemed like easy places to break what was otherwise written as a solid read-through. Ummm, so if you want to read-through once the whole thing is posted...that would probably alleviate the doom and gloom.

* * *

><p><strong>Anamorphosis<strong>

**Part three**

Lorne hadn't even intended to fall asleep. He's sat down on his bed because the room was quiet and his and private, and the next thing he knew he was waking up with the pillow over his head and the sheets twisted aggressively around him. He woke up with no feeling in the leg he was lying on and his hands clutched under his chin like a prayer. He felt sore and stiff and strange.

Lorne flipped onto his back and flexed his foot until the motion brought pins and needles into his leg. Then he untangled himself from the sheets and made his way into the bathroom.

Atlantis turned the lights on with an accommodating dimness.

Lorne stopped. He stared. He raised his hand in a vague wave just to make sure the man in the mirror was really him.

There was a God damned bite mark on his face.

It was red and sloppy, but there was a clear ridge of teeth marks slanting across the meaty part of his cheek right under his eye.

A fucking bite mark.

Lorne surged toward the mirror, yanking down the neckline of his hospital gown then finally pulling it over his head in frustration. He stood naked in front of the mirror and looked at himself.

There were dark, wicked looking hickies all over his neck. That would have taken time. Someone had spent time doing that.

There were scratches curving from right under his armpit and down over his ribs to his lower back. The scratches were on both sides. Lorne traced one with his finger tips then yanked his hand away as if it had burned. Fingernails had done that.

He twisted himself into a ridiculous pretzel, trying to see all of it. There were more bite marks across his shoulders and there were bruises...

"Lights." Lorne barked and the room went dark.

He breathed.

Then he sank down to sit on the floor. He wrapped an arm around his bare knees.

He had walked through the corridors and talked to his commanding officer with a fucking bite mark on his face. Everybody had seen. That's what Sheppard had been looking at.

A fucking bite mark.

Like somebody owned him.

Beckett had been telling the truth.

Lorne hadn't realized he didn't believe Beckett – not really – until that very moment.

He was...he had...he couldn't fucking remember anything. Who had touched him? What had they done? What the fuck was he going to do if he couldn't fucking remember anything?

Lorne didn't know how long he sat in the dark for.

Long enough.

He thought about taking a shower. He had walked into the bathroom planning to take a shower. But he couldn't take a shower now. That would make him a fucking cliché.

Then what? The relentlessly sarcastic side of his brain asked. You'll never shower again? One day, two days, the rest of your fucking life? Wouldn't that make you a monument to weeping trauma. Idiot.

Normal people showered every day. It didn't mean anything.

He was normal people.

He wasn't different, for fuck's sake. He couldn't even remember anything. He wasn't one of those people who had nightmares – he'd slept for thirteen hours for Christ's sake – or flinched away from touch, or went about cringing from the least little human interaction. He couldn't even remember anything. He didn't have the...the right to be traumatized.

He was going to get up and prove he was just fine. Because he was.

"Lights." Lorne said and his voice sounded strangely hoarse. The lights came back on. He got do his feet and fetched a towel and turned on the water. He didn't look in the mirror.

He picked up the soap and drew the bar across his chest, under the ridge of his collar bone.

The soap smelled...it smelled...like a warm shoulder, the crease of an Atlantis uniform, and the ground under his body.

Lorne grit his teeth and rushed through the rest of his shower.

The next thing normal people did was get dressed, so Lorne got dressed.

Then he hesitated.

He had thought about getting breakfast. He was hungry, and the mess was open twenty-four/seven. Eggs would be good. And warm toast. He'd really like some of that jam stuff that almost tasted like black berries.

But he had a bite mark on his face. And if he went out there now, people would see it.

He had a stash in the bottom drawer of his desk: peanut M&Ms, almond breakfast bars, and ramen noodles.

Fuck it, Lorne thought and fished out the M&M's. He had another day.


	4. Anamorphosis Four

**Anamorphosis**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaime<strong>r: This is a fan production. I have no association with any of the folks or companies involved in producing 'Stargate: Atlantis' and I am making no profit off this bit of scribbling. I do, however, admire their work.

_Have a nice weekend_!

* * *

><p><strong>Anamorphosis<strong>

**Part Four**

On the third morning, the bite mark had turned into an ugly green and yellow bruise and Lorne was sick of hiding in his room. Beckett had checked in with him over the radio twice but hadn't forced him back to the infirmary, and Sheppard was expecting him to discuss duty-hours.

He couldn't hide in his rooms forever. He'd end up pulling something suitably Van Gogh and really cement his reputation as a weekend artist.

Despite its oddities and temperamental oddballs, Atlantis didn't have any mad recluses.

So Lorne got dressed in his uniform, changed his mind, and dressed again in high-necked civvies. Then he realized he was going to have to requisition new boots. bastards still had his shoes – of course. Breaking in a new pair was not going to be fun.

It was absurd. The whole thing was freaking absurd.

At least he had socks this time.

So. The first thing on his list was requisitions. He was not going to talk to Sheppard in his socks. Then he could get the humiliation of facing the man over with and figure out where to go next. Somewhere in there, breakfast would be a good idea. There was only so much Ramon noodles could do for a body and he was dying for some caffeine.

Actually, the caffeine would go a long way to holding his spine up. Lorne decided to swing by the canteen then requisition the boots.

It was late enough in the morning that first shift was already on duty and Lorne didn't pass anybody in the hallway. Then he jinxed himself by hoping his luck would hold.

"Major Lorne!" Airman Kylie Jones hollered across the cafeteria.

Lorne liked Kylie. She was exuberant and fun and she flirted with everyone. When she wasn't toting a rocket launcher, Kylie was harmless.

Lorne cringed.

"Major!" Kylie shouted again, and waved at him like her hair was on fire. "I'm glad to see you."

Well, there went his plan to sneak in and sneak out. Everybody had turned to look at him.

"Hi," Lorne fished up a smirk and sidled into the room. "Miss me?"

"Yes, sir!" Kylie chirruped, dimples in full effect. They dimmed as her eyes tracked over the bruise on his face. Her voice wavered then grew even more syrupy. "We had Oreo fudge-bars for desert the night before last, and cranberry rice pudding last night, and tonight we're going to have banana splits. I've saved one of each for you. Do you want an Oreo fudge-bar for breakfast?"

Lorne tried for normal. "Is that standard military fare?"

"Absolutely not, sir. But that only means it'll taste better."

Lorne forced a chuckle. "Thank you, Airman Jones. But I think I'll stick with eggs for now. Can you do that?"

"Fresh from the mainland. They're even yellow this time." Kylie found him a warm plate and began dishing up breakfast. "Um, Major Lorne?"

"Yes?"

Kylie blushed and focused on the eggs like they held the answer to life. "I heard the last mission got a little rough. Um, I just wanted to tell you I'm glad you made it back. Everybody's glad to have you back."

Lorne sucked in startled breath. For some reason, he hadn't expected anybody to actually say anything. Stupid. He should have been ready. "It was just a follow up." Lorne deflected.

"Yes, sir." Kylie passed him the plate and despite the strawberry stain across her cheeks, she raised her chin determinedly and looked Lorne in the eye. "But sometimes shit happens. Sir."

The bottom dropped out of Lorne's stomach and something oily and shamed welled up in its place. Lorne ducked away, making a retreat before his conscious mind could even decide how to respond. "Ain't that the truth," he said, and hoped he was the only one who could hear how false the humour in his voice was.

And when he turned around, he was facing the entire cafeteria.

Paranoia, Lorne told himself. He wasn't different. He was reading things into what Kylie said that she didn't mean. It was all in his head.

Right.

He found an empty table against the wall and plunked his tray down. He looked at his yellow eggs.

You're being an idiot, the sarcastic voice at the back of his head said. His stomach churned and the eggs suddenly looked congealed and unappealing.

Fox slammed his tray down on the table next to Lorne's and Lorne absolutely, positively did not jump. Fox pulled his chair out with an almighty screech and hunched over his tray like he was a prisoner in a max-security prison and there wasn't enough food to go around.

"Hey," Fox mumbled, and shoved a spoonful of food in his mouth.

Fox had been on Lorne's team for the shortest amount of time. Lorne had recruited him after they lost Marjorie to a freaking cave-in – thank God it wasn't the wraith – eight months earlier. Privately, Lorne liked to consider Fox his own, personal Ronan: Fox was just about as loquacious. Except that Fox was short, and square, and looked like a marine's marine. Yeah. The comparison wasn't really holding up.

"Hey," Lorne retuned. They sat and Lorne watched Fox eat for a bit. He felt the muscles in his back start to unknot. It was nice to sit here with a team member and not be expected to...be anything.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Lorne's heart nearly stopped. He reached for his side arm but, of course, it wasn't there.

Chatterton hauled Fox out of his seat by the collar of his shirt. "What the fuck..." He hissed, and shook the man.

Lorne had never seen Chatterton angry before. Chatterton was a practical jokester, with five sisters and two brothers back on Earth and a bucket load of stories that never failed to get a laugh out of anyone. He carried a picture of his father for luck and everything washed off him like water off a duck.

The table shook with the force of Fox's body being slammed against it and Lorne's plate of uneaten eggs hit the floor with a shattering crash.

"Break it up!" Lorne bellowed, but Fox swung at Chatterton and then his two team mates were brawling in the middle of the cafeteria.

"Stop, now! That's an order!" Lorne shouted again, but the two men weren't hearing him.

"You unmitigated dick!" Chatterton snarled, and Fox sneered something incoherent and spittle strewn in return. Lorne waded into the mess.

The damnable thing was his marines actually knew how to fight. Lorne wasn't going to be able to break this up on his own.

An elbow caught him a glancing blow across the cheek. It hurt – it stung like a bitch and for a moment the world went grey at the edges.

Then Lorne got angry.

The grey was washed away by red – literally. Never in his life had Lorne ever 'seen red', but at that very moment red was all he could see. He laid into his men like they were the enemy and his life depended on it.

Then there were arms around his chest and he was being hauled backwards and he struggled but too many hands were pressing him down to the ground.

He heaved against them, fought and twisted and cursed, until suddenly the fight just bled out of him. No matter how he told himself to move, his body went limp and all the fury washed away. Lorne lay against the mess hall floor and panted. Tears pricked his eyes. He swallowed hard and blinked until they went away.

"You done?" A voice said quietly in his ear, and the arms around his torso tightened.

"Yeah." Lorne conceded, and the man helped him to his feet. It was Sergeant Bates.

His team had been brawling in the cafeteria and Atlantis Security had been called to break it up.

That was just...wonderful. Really fabulous. Class A, in fact.

God.

"Good. Let's take a walk."

So they walked. Bates' crew paced Chatterton and Fox a respectful distance back from Bates and Lorne. The whole group of them marched through Atlantis without a word. Lorne felt a little like he was going to an execution.

Bates had an office that was unusually utilitarian and boxy.

"Take a seat, Major." Bates gestured to a bench beside a potted plant along the far wall. "Your man and I are just going to have a little talk." So Lorne sat, like a chastened school boy, and Fox and Chatterton followed Bated into the office. A moment later, the glass fogged and Lorne couldn't see them anymore.

Bates' men filed out of the office without looking at Lorne and Lorne was left to his own devices.


	5. Anamorphosis Five

**Anamorphosis**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: This is a fan production. I have no association with any of the folks or companies involved in producing 'Stargate: Atlantis' and I am making no profit off this bit of scribbling. I do, however, admire their work.

I feel a little bit like singing: _Is anybody out there_?

How am I doing so far? Good bits? Bits you hate? Admittedly, the thing is pretty much written already, so I'm not going to change much, but it's always good to know what to work on for next time ^_-!

Heads up for content in this chapter...as always, the warning given in chapter one applies all the way through this fic.

* * *

><p><strong>Anamorphosis<strong>

**Part Five**

It had been stupid. Just stupid. Lorne didn't even know why he'd been so angry. He had just flipped. He hadn't been in control of himself.

Why the hell were Fox and Chatterton at each other, anyway? His team was professional. They'd never had any problems working with each other. This was totally out of character.

Lorne stared at the fogged wall. He couldn't hear a word of what was going on in there.

They were in the office for over forty-five minutes.

Finally – finally! What had they been talking about? Universal peace? – Fox and Chatterton marched shamefacedly out of the office. Both men glanced at Lorne, but neither said a word. They left and Bates stood in the doorway, looking at Lorne.

"It's not every day I have an officer in here."

"That's a shame."

Bates smirked. "I've always counted it as a personal achievement, myself." He straightened, and stepped aside. "After you, sir."

So Lorne stepped into Bates' office. The badly behaved school boy analogy? Still holding strong.

"So," Bates said, once they were both settled in their seats. "How have you been?"

Lorne did not miss the lack of titles. He figured it was probably appropriate when a Major was being disciplined by a Sergeant.

"Great." Lorne said airily. "It's all sunshine and lollipops." He couldn't help it. Sometimes these things just came out of his mouth.

It was probably why he had ended up on Atlantis.

"Glad to hear it." Bates was as dry as desert sand. He stared at Lorne.

Lorne stared back.

He tried really, really hard not to blink.

"Chatterton and Fox have a problem." Bates said.

Yes. That little tidbit had been obvious. The big question was – why?

Bates sighed. He folded his hands on the desk. "Neither one is in the wrong. It's a personal matter."

Bates sighed again. He shook his head, as if the clear it. "I cannot tell you what they told me. I do recommend that you sit down with each one individually and discuss the issue. As it stands, your team is already standing down, so I don't need to put you on probation. But get this sorted out before it's time to go back out there."

This was news to Lorne. "Standing down?"

Bates was stony faced. "Since the last mission. You're all on hiatus until Heightmeyer clears you for off-world duty."

Lorne took a deep breath. Then he took another. "Why?"

Bates leaned back in his chair. He was entirely unreadable. "Given the events of the last mission, the higher-ups felt it was advisable. The decision was made by both the Lieutenant Colonel and Weir, on Dr. Beckett's recommendation." He tapped the table dismissively. "You were not aware of this?"

Lorne shook his head. What had been said?

"I am sorry," Bates' twisted his mouth wryly. There was no humour in it. "I would rather not be the person breaking this to you."

Lorne was startled into a laugh. "I'm sure you wouldn't." He agreed. He shoved his restless nerves down. He needed to know – there was too much he didn't know – and he needed to know how much everybody else knew. "What events are they basing that decision on?"

Bates studied him. The man had a hard face, worry lines prominent over his brow and frown lines framing his mouth. He looked stern and a little bit angry. But that was just Sergeant Bates' face. He always looked like that. It wasn't representative of anything in particular the man might be feeling.

"Officially? Nothing. Unofficially?"

Lorne was going to throw up.

"Unofficially, your team panicked. They shot and killed unarmed natives and dragged you back through the gate unconscious." The man was a rock. "They came through the gate firing behind them and you had no clothes." His eyes were made of flint. "Atlantis is a small, closed community. Everybody talks."

Lorne heaved out a breath. He hadn't even realized he'd been holding it. Bates was right. Everybody talked. Lorne knew all about how Ronan had made Sergeant Frank Derby cry, and how Dr. Rachel Kinsley had dumped Airman Jason Holt for Airman Sarah Stanley, and how Staff Sergeant Morrison had been caught in the weapons storage with really...outré porn.

And how Major Lorne had been dragged back through the gate drugged out of his mind and...

Jesus. Everybody knew. Everybody. By now, there wasn't a single person on Atlantis who hadn't heard.

Fuck.

Lorne stared at the table. "I suppose there will be some disciplinary action?" He asked, because he didn't know what to say and he wanted to get out of there right now.

"No." Bates said, and for the first time looked surprised. "That's not my call."

"I mean for my men." Lorne insisted. "For brawling."

Bates tapped the table top. Lorne watched the impatient motion of the man's fingers.

"They're cooling their heels in the brig. And they have mandatory counselling sessions with Heightmeyer. They are not...unaffected."

Jesus. What did that even mean?

"And myself?"

"You were just trying to break it up. That's what everybody saw, and that's what's going in my report."

It was pity. Fucking pity.

Lorne's chair screeched back and he leapt to his feet. "If that's all then..." He started to turn away.

"No."

Lorne froze.

"Sit back down, Major Lorne?" And it was phrased like a question, like Bates hadn't decided if he really wanted Lorne to sit back down or not.

Lorne sat. He glared at Bates.

"I..." Bates took a deep breath. "When I..." He stopped and considered his words. "Atlantis is not a military base." He said finally. "It's a Goddamn cult. It's us against the whole damn galaxy and we...we stand together. Like a family. Even when we hate each other's guts." Bates shrugged helplessly.

Where the heck was Bates going with this? Lorne glared harder.

Bates glared back. Frustrated anger furrowed his brow.

"When I...When I was six, I spent a week at my aunt's house in Georgia. One morning, I woke up and my pyjama bottoms and my underwear were missing."

Jesus fuck.

"I couldn't find them anywhere, so I just got dressed and went outside to play. We never did find them. When I was nineteen, my uncle was arrested for molesting his seven year old son." Bates frowned, and he held Lorne's gaze with a knowing certainty. "It took me thirteen years to understand what likely happened. I don't know...did nothing happen? Did he just look? Did I sleep through the whole thing or did I black it out in some post-traumatic fugue? Did I pull my pants off in my sleep and eat my goddamn underwear and that's why we never found the things? And nothing happened at all?"

Bates shook his head and took a deep breath. "Whatever." He said. "I don't know. And I'm not ever going to ask the fucker. So. It's not...it doesn't define me. These things, they don't define us." He looked at Lorne, like Lorne was supposed to be getting some kind of message.

Lorne didn't know what the message was supposed to be. "Did you ever tell your aunt?"

Bates snorted. "And say what? Gee, Auntie. Remember that time when I was six and came to stay with you and Uncle James? Well, if there were signs back then, why the hell did you make a perfect little victim with the man?"

"So you never told anyone."

Bates looked at Lorne hard. "No, I never told anyone. I don't know for sure what happened."

Neither did Lorne. Lorne didn't know for sure what happened either. But everyone else sure seemed to.

Lorne clenched his fists under the table and told himself not to get mad.

Bates was telling him something personal that Lorne didn't want to know.

Because Bates felt sorry for Lorne.

Lorne wasn't six years old.

Don't get mad.

"Thanks for the pep talk." Lorne said. He stood up again and this time nothing was going to stop him. "Will that be all?"

Bates was looking at Lorne like he got it, like he could read Lorne's mind, and Lorne wanted to hit him. "Sure," Bates said.

Lorne nodded, and high-tailed it out of Bates' office.


	6. Anamorphosis Six

**Anamorphosis**

* * *

><p><span>Disclaimer<span>: This is a fan production. I have no association with any of the folks or companies involved in producing 'Stargate: Atlantis' and I am making no profit off this bit of scribbling. I do, however, admire their work.

_Hi Madwhiskey_! Thank you for letting me know what you think – I really appreciate the comment. It's no fun writing into a void. I'm actually glad you have questions, because a lot of this story circles around all the things Lorne doesn't know – exactly what happened, what other people are thinking or feeling or saying, misread reactions and speculations and doubts. I'm really glad that's working.

Ummm, that said, the unrelenting angst and depression continues!

* * *

><p><strong>Anamorphosis<strong>

**Part Six**

Requisitions in Atlantis were something of a cobbled affair. Since contact with Earth had been re-established, most folks simply ordered what they wanted and had it delivered on the Daedalus. But Atlantis still stockpiled basic things like uniform parts in case of emergencies or immediate necessity. They even, when they could, stripped parts off bodies; it was, Lorne suspected, a holdover from Atlantis' early isolation.

Which meant, when he got to requisitions, the only boots in his size were used. There was a name written inside the heel that was partially worn off: Je—b-son.

Lorne couldn't make out all the letters, and he was drawing a blank on who they could have possibly belonged to.

That was probably a good thing.

They probably belonged to some unlucky sod whose bad luck was contagious.

It was a little weird wearing another man's boots. The sole was worn down in the wrong places and the arch was a little too far back. Lorne resolved to get his own pair as soon as possible. For now, these would do. He was currently grounded, after all.

Not like he had to go anywhere.

So. He had failed to get breakfast. Failed to get any duty-hours from Sheppard, and failed to get new boots. Three times bad luck.

He might as well go see Heightmeyer about getting an appointment. Maybe the woman would think he looked perfectly fine – awesome in fact – and he could get out of this thing entirely.

And maybe the wraith were secretly bunny lovin' tree huggers who just didn't have enough friends to play tea party.

One could always hope.

Heightmeyer was in her office when Lorne knocked on the door, and she looked up with a pleasantly welcoming expression. Her countenance didn't change at all when she saw it was Lorne. She had one impressive poker face.

"Major," She invited smoothly, "come in, please. I've been wondering when I'd see you."

Somebody – Sheppard, Beckett, even Weir – must have put in a word for him. Lorne wondered how that would have looked. He imagined the memo:

Ingested an indigenous equivalent of Rohypnal, Beckett's would say, and, per the generic purpose of any given 'roofie', was subject to sexual assault.

Nice and detached and callously blunt.

Or Sheppard's might read: Encountered hostile natives and was subject to something I don't want to talk about. Please evaluate readiness to resume duties.

No. That wasn't fair. Sheppard didn't really care – well, he cared – about Lorne's readiness to resume duties. He was just trying to find a circumstantial way to check in with Lorne without having to talk about (scary-scary-scary) emotional stuff.

And Weir...Lorne had no idea. Please make Major Lorne cry. I think it would be healthy for him. Tell him we are all concerned and care about his well being.

No. That's not what Weir would say at all. Hell. He didn't have a clue. He was just making this shit up.

They probably hadn't told Heightmeyer anything specific. Officially.

"Do you want to sit down?"

No. Lorne sat.

"So," Heightmeyer said, tucking her feet neatly underneath her. "How are you?"

There was that damn question again. Lorne was getting sick of that question.

"Fine." He said.

Heightmeyer raised an eyebrow. "I understand your team has been grounded."

"Yes." Lorne admitted.

"And that all three of your team members spent the last few days in the brig, only to be released this morning." Heightmeyer took a deep breath. "And that two of your team members are back in the brig now."

What?

"What?" Lorne said stupidly.

Heightmeyer blinked. "Sergeant Bates contacted me half an hour ago. He said there was a brawl, and Chatterton and Fox had...'blown' their chance to wander around the base unescorted."

Lorne shook his head. "They were incarcerated while I was in the infirmary?"

"You were not made aware of this?"

"No," Lorne leaned forward emphatically. He had thought they were avoiding him. "I thought...well. It doesn't matter what I thought. Why were they locked up?"

"I am not privy to all the details of the case, Major Lorne. I am, however, very concerned with what you thought. Can you tell me about it?"

"Bullshit," Lorne was seized with another white hot pang of anger. He didn't know why he was so angry. It just seemed like every little thing was setting him off. "My team is not going to be cleared for duty until you okay it – the brass must have made you aware of all the details of the case so you could do your job. And this is Atlantis. Everybody knows everything. Somebody," Lorne frowned bitterly, "probably had something to say to you."

"I am not interested in gossip." Nothing fazed Heightmeyer. "But yes, I was made aware of certain details." She looked at Lorne earnestly. "I don't know the real story, Major Lorne. Only you know that. And right now, I'm not working with anybody else. I'm working with you. So the only story I want to know is the one you tell me."

She had the Bambi eyes down pat. Lorne bet babies gave their candy to Kate Heightmeyer.

He had to do this. He had to get this over with if he wanted things to go back to normal.

"We were doing a follow-up off world." Lorne searched for the right words. He didn't even know how much he wanted to say to her yet. "It was...innocuous. Pleasant, even. They had something that tasted like mint and this really sharp...fruit juice." Lorne shook his head. "I didn't suspect anything."

He was quiet for a long time.

"What happened?" Heightmeyer prompted, when Lorne didn't continue.

"There was something in my fruit juice." Lorne said lowly. "I don't know what. I don't remember."

His palms were getting sweaty. He wiped them off on his jean-clad knees.

"What do you remember?"

"Don't you have any scheduled appointments? I mean, don't I have to make an appointment before we do this?"

"I am clear this afternoon." Heightmeyer soothed, and if Lorne hadn't known any better he would have said she was guileless. "I am at your disposal."

Lorne looked down at his hands. At his skin that was smooth and unbroken and not even bruised. He hadn't even fought.

He didn't know. How could he talk about something he didn't know?

"Yeah," Lorne said. "Hold that thought, hey? I'll have to...I'll have to come back later."

He was on leave after all. He had all the time in the fucking world.

Lorne lurched to his feet and, ignoring Heightmeyer's confusion, ducked away from her outstretched hand and cleared out of her office before she could protest.

He'd had a long morning. He needed to lie down.


	7. Anamorphosis Seven

**Anamorphosis**

* * *

><p><span>Disclaimer<span>: This is a fan production. I have no association with any of the folks or companies involved in producing 'Stargate: Atlantis' and I am making no profit off this bit of scribbling. I do, however, admire their work.

Writer's Note: I've tried to make a point of posting every two days, but I have some other obligations coming up this next week. As a result, _I will not be_ _posting_ the next part until the following week (I'm gunning for Tuesday). I'm sorry for the delay, but I will resume posting shortly (Unlike my other fic, which I still have to get back to -_-). Thanks for your patience!

* * *

><p><strong>Anamorphosis<strong>

**Part Seven**

Yuri broke into Lorne's rooms three days later.

Lorne was in bed, dozing in that in-between place that wasn't really sleep and wasn't really coherent thought either. That was pretty much what he had spent the last three days doing.

"Get up." Yuri said, and ripped the sheets off. "When was the last time you showered?"

Lorne blinked up at Yuri. His eyes felt swollen and bleary. The blood was pounding through his skull.

"Jesus," Yuri said, and hauled Lorne upright. Yuri was a big man, well over six feet tall, and built like a damn body builder. He lifted Lorne easily.

Lorne swayed and absolutely, positively did not make a strangled squeaky noise in protest.

"Shower. Shave. Clean clothes. You stink. You look like a drunk-ass hobo."

Good old Yuri. The man didn't believe in bullshit of any kind. That was why Lorne had chosen Yuri as his second on the gate team.

"Where you been?" Lorne said blearily. "I've seen Fox and Chatterton, but this is the first time I've seen you."

"Don't know when you found the time to see them, seeing as you haven't been answering your comm or out of your room in three days. Sheppard actually had McKay rig up a life-signs detector to monitor your well-being. Everyone was a little concerned that you had taken it into your head to off yourself."

Lorne took it back. Yuri was an unfeeling asshole.

Yuri propelled Lorne bodily into the wash room and Lorne was jerked along helplessly, his angry protests as effective as a budgie pecking at an elephant.

"To answer your question, I've been dealing with this shit storm on every level. And it is a shit storm: A shit storm that should have, otherwise, landed squarely on your plate. I'm a little bit pissed off that you decided to fall apart instead."

Lorne stared up at Yuri. Yuri sighed. His hands gentled.

"Please wash up, sir. We have things to discuss. And it will," Yuri's hand slid down Lorne's arm compassionately, and Lorne jerked back. Holy shit. Had Yuri just stroked him? "Make you feel better."

Well if that wasn't a mixed bag of signals...Lorne nodded, suddenly desperately wanting Yuri to get the hell out of his bathroom.

"Give me fifteen minutes." Lorne said.

"Take your time." And the door slid shut between them.

Lorne did take his time. The one awesome thing about Atlantis was that they never ran out of hot water. Lorne stood under the shower until Earth-water would have long gone cold, and his skin was starting to chafe. Then he towelled off, dressed in clean clothes, and carefully knotted his borrowed boots.

He did not look in the mirror.

Yuri was still in his room when he got out. His team mate had made his bed, and picked all the dirty laundry up off the floor, and collected all the candy wrappers and food packages in the garbage can. It was weird and invasive and embarrassing.

"So..." Lorne started, but he didn't know what to say.

Yuri stood in the middle of the room. Then he pulled out Lorne's chair and made to sit. Then he stood and looked at Lorne. "Can we talk?"

"Have a seat." Lorne gestures wryly, and sat on the edge of his bed.

Yuri sat. He stared at Lorne. Lorne stared back.

"My father left when I was twelve." Yuri started abruptly, and he spoke so forcefully that Lorne did not dare interrupt him. "My mom didn't date for a long time after that. It was hard for her."

Jesus. What was with people confessing to him? He didn't want to know this. Why the hell was Yuri telling him this shit?

"When she started dating..." Yuri cleared his throat. "When I was seventeen, she started dating this guy, this computer programmer, who...he raped her. She didn't tell me or anything." Yuri waved his hand. "But one night after a date she came home with bruises around her neck and I could hear her crying all night and she stopped taking this guy's phone calls. She said he wasn't any good, and we didn't need him in our lives. And I didn't need to worry - she was done dating for a while." Yuri glared, and Lorne could see the man was probably just as angry now as he had been at seventeen. "She didn't call the police or anything. She had been on a date, and who the hell date rapes a divorced mom?"

Lorne felt something ugly and furious and mortified ooze its way through him. Had Yuri and Bates got together and decided personal horror stories were just the thing to make poor, abused Lorne feel better? Was it supposed to prove some kind of solidarity? Had he joined some kind of victims club and nobody had told him? If that was so, Lorne didn't want anything to do with it.

"Stop," Lorne said before he realized he'd even opened his mouth. "Don't tell me this shit. I don't care – you hear me? I don't care." And there was a little voice at the back of his head that couldn't believe the vileness that was spewing out of his mouth. "I don't care what happened to you before Atlantis; I don't care about your mom; I don't care. It has nothing to do with me."

"Shut up." Yuri said serenely. "I'm telling a story. I'm telling you this story because I want you to understand that I get it, okay? This is your fucking intervention."

"I hate that show," Lorne muttered sullenly. And despite all the shame he'd felt whenever anybody treated him like he was different, like he was made out of porcelain, he was still shocked at Yuri's blunt force.

"Are you ready?" Yuri said when Lorne had no further snide comments to add. But he didn't wait for Lorne's affirmation. He continued as if Lorne hadn't interrupted at all.

"But this guy, he wouldn't go away. He kept calling and then he started showing up at the door and standing in the hallway outside our apartment and shouting that he had been drunk. It wasn't his fault. And I hated the way my mom didn't do anything about it and I hated the way the neighbours looked at us. I hated the way it dragged her under and the way she couldn't stop...stop wallowing in it."

Damn. Damn. His skin itched. Lorne rubbed his palms against his knees.

"Then one day he got tired of standing outside our door and he tried to come in. I..." Yuri looked away. Then he looked squarely back at Lorne. "I spent six months in juvie for assault. I was damn lucky I wasn't eighteen yet. When I got out, all my friends had graduated high school and I was the kid who had assaulted his mom's boyfriend with a broken coke bottle."

Jesus Christ.

Yuri shrugged. "So I joined the military."

There probably hadn't been much else the kid Yuri had been could do.

Look," Yuri leaned forward intently. "He hurt us. But I hurt us again when I did that. I am telling you this because I want you to understand there is more going on than just..." Yuri waved his hand vaguely in Lorne's direction.

What? Lorne's slobby quarters? The Goddamn medical leave? The way people were talking about him? What?

"I am not taking sides." Yuri said unhelpfully. "Because neither Fox nor Chatterton are wrong. It's complicated."

"What..." Lorne licked his lips and spoke past the dryness in his throat. "What are you talking about?"

"How much do you remember?"

Oh, God.

"Nothing."

"We didn't notice you were missing right away. It wasn't until we realized nobody knew where you were that we figured something was wrong. We started a search through the village."

Did he even want to hear this?

"We found you in a barn at the edge of the village. The men were...distracted. They didn't hear us coming."

Lorne was going to be sick.

"We caught them by surprise. It was an easy ambush. Fox told them to get down on their knees against the wall and put their hands on their heads. They did. Fox and Chatterton held them under gun sight and I went to check on you. You were unresponsive – shocky - and I said we had to get you to the stargate right away."

Yuri swallowed. But his voice was even – a dull monotone that said he had told this story before.

"One of the men said...one of the men said...it doesn't matter what he said. Fox shot him. Then Chatterton started shooting, and the two of them executed every single man in that barn."

The bottom dropped out of Lorne's world. He hadn't known that. He hadn't even had a hint of that. He felt...hollow: vindicated and horrified and strangely hollow.

"The villagers came running, and they were armed because they had heard the gunfire, and they saw what we had done, and we had to shoot our way out of there. We killed...many people."

Lorne should be glad, shouldn't he?

"Major Lorne," Yuri said formally, and Lorne felt his spine straighten automatically. "We then conspired to conceal our actions and claim the deaths were self defence against a hostile attack. However, upon debriefing, Fox confessed everything and we are now under review for war crimes."

What? What?

"I am telling you this because our actions hurt this team. Our actions hurt you, and I am very sorry."

"War crimes?" Lorne said thickly.

"We executed unarmed men who had clearly surrendered, then conspired to conceal the fact. Our actions tarnished the reputation of this army."

"You..." Lorne didn't even know what to say.

Yuri sighed, and all the starch went out of him. His spine bent and he buried his head in his hands. "Chatterton is pissed that Fox told. Fox is having some kind of religious crisis – he keeps talking about the state of his soul – and I am in over my head. I have no defence for this. I am not going to be able to hold this team together." Yuri looked up. "And neither are you. Fox and Chatterton are being sent back to Earth for review the next time the Daedalus ships out, and I am under strict probation. We need our team leader."

Holy shit.

"I..."

"You need to go talk to them. You need to talk to Sheppard. And Weir."

"Yeah," Lorne said dazedly. "Okay. Right now?"

Yuri shrugged. The corners of his eyes crinkled in black humour. "Unless you got more wallowing pencilled in for the day."

"No." Lorne said. "No more wallowing."


	8. Anamorphosis Eight

**Anamorphosis**

* * *

><p><span>Disclaimer<span>: This is a fan production. I have no association with any of the folks or companies involved in producing 'Stargate: Atlantis' and I am making no profit off this bit of scribbling. I do, however, admire their work.

Author's note: Few! Almost didn't get this in before Tuesday was up. The next part will be posted next Tuesday (I'm sorry for the delay – this busy 'week' is spilling into a busy month) but after that I will hopefully be able to resume a quicker posting schedule.

_Thank you to sagey and Gwenfrewi72 for reviewing_. It is extremely heartening to know I'm not writing into a vacuum ^_^!

* * *

><p><strong>Anamorphosis<strong>

**Part Eight**

There was one guard on the brig when Lorne arrived. The man's eyes widened when he saw Lorne and he came to attention with diligent speed. "Major Lorne."

"Stand down." Lorne said, and the guard relaxed. Lorne nodded past him toward the holding cells. "Can I go in there?"

"No problem, sir. They've been quiet."

Chatterton and Fox were being kept in separate cells. Somebody – Bates, most likely – had arranged to put up the soundproof fogging walls the ancients were so fond of. Neither man would be able to hear anything in there. But at the moment, the walls were clear and both team members were staring at Lorne.

"Thanks," Lorne said, and let the guard wave him into Chatterton's cell.

Chatterton leapt to his feet and saluted. His face was stony.

"Sit down." Lorne barked.

Chatterton sat.

Lorne sat across from him. It was oddly reminiscent of the way he had sat across from Yuri. They were two men, with a monster of an elephant between them.

Lorne rubbed a hand across his face. "So." He said, and the first words that came to mind were: how have you been doing? What an awful question that was. "Yuri came and kicked my ass." Lorne said instead. That got something that was almost a smirk.

"Then he told me what happened."

There was stony silence from the other side of the cell.

"You wanna tell me yourself?"

Chatterton shrugged.

"For fucks sake, man," Lorne bit out. "I'm already in this – all the way in this. What happened?"

Chatterton scrubbed a hand across his mouth. He looked around the cell like he could pull the words from thin air. "What'd he say?"

"He told me what happened on...on the mission. He said you shot those men." Lorne decided he didn't have the energy to pull any punches. "He said you executed them while they were unarmed and on their knees."

"Yeah." Chatterton said. "We did." There was something dark and ugly in Chatterton's eyes, something Lorne had never seen there before.

He had seen it in other soldiers: Solders in Afghanistan and Iraq, who had been out there too long and who had...broken in some fundamental way.

"I don't regret it, sir. I don't...I don't know if I could have walked out of there without pulling the trigger."

Chatterton had five sisters and two brothers and he liked to play practical jokes and he talked about his siblings like they were the best thing ever.

And now he had that look in his eyes.

Lorne looked away.

He didn't know if he regretted it, either.

"I..." Lorne said thickly. "Thanks. Just...thank you."

"Yeah." And the line of Chatterton's shoulder's relaxed, as if that was what he had been waiting for.

"So," Lorne asked after a moment. "What's going on between you and Fox?"

Chatterton hissed out a frustrated breath. "The man is...he is some kind of asshole. We could have..." Chatterton waved his hand expansively, and there was no shame on his face. "We could have got away with it. We're in another galaxy, for fuck's sake, and the natives attack us all the Goddamn time, and who's to know better?" He leaned forward, intent. "And they deserved it. They fucking deserved it."

Lorne didn't argue.

"And it's not even that. I'm not pissed that he told – not really. It's that...he keeps...he keeps talking about God, and how this wasn't war, this was murder, and it was a sin, and...he regrets it. He regrets killing the people who did that to you." Chatterton sat back, all the breath sucked out of him.

"Then, he dared to sit down beside you and pretend like it wasn't eating him up, like he was your buddy or something. How could a buddy regret killing the people who would do something like that to a team mate?"

Oh.

"I would do it again." Chatterton swore. "I would do it a hundred times over. I would do it for my brother, and my sister, and my team leader. That's just what you're supposed to do."

Oh, damn. This was what Yuri meant. This was why the whole mess was being sent back to Earth. This was why the higher ups had decided they couldn't let things stand.

The first 'incident' was always the breaking point. Things just got slipperier and uglier and more likely to go to hell after that.

"Okay. Do you understand what is going to happen?"

Chatterton nodded. "They're talking about a war crimes trial. Yuri thinks it won't actually go that far – trying us for war crimes committed in the Pegasus galaxy would likely be too vulnerable to public attention and even if they did, what would they do with us next?" Chatterton did not slump; he had made up his mind and he seemed determined not to collapse under the fallout. "Sheppard thinks the same thing."

Lorne blinked in surprise. "Sheppard said that?"

"He came to see us yesterday. He said there are people on the other side who are...not unsympathetic to our actions, and he strongly suspects we'll be offered a dishonourable discharge, if we agree to go quietly."

FUBAR'd.

The military didn't want to screw these men over – the military wasn't a moral organization, it was a martial institute with an 'us against them' mentality. Chances were, if it was just the military involved, this could be quietly swept under the rug and there wouldn't be any real consequences at all.

But Atlantis wasn't a military expedition and they answered to a civilian oversight. Civilian oversights were concerned with morality by definition.

They probably didn't even know about what had happened to Lorne. That was private medical information. The only officially public information was the action Lorne's team had taken in response.

Some paper pushers somewhere were probably standing around the water cooler and talking about what monsters Lorne's team members were – what animals soldiers in a warzone were.

"I'll put in a good word for you." They both knew there wasn't much Lorne could do for either Chatterton or Fox.

"That's more than I could ask, sir." Chatterton raised his chin defiantly. "It has been an honour working with you, sir."

"And you." Lorne stood. He could see Fox watching them from the other cell. "Ryan," Lorne added, because he couldn't let it go and at this point formalities seemed pointless. "Thank you. Really. I can't tell you..." Lorne shrugged helplessly. He really didn't know what he wanted to say.

Ryan Chatterton smiled back at him. It was humourless and cold, a mere acknowledgement of Lorne's words. "I couldn't live with myself otherwise."

It was a hell of a thing.


	9. Anamorphosis Nine

**Anamorphosis**

* * *

><p><span>Disclaimer<span>: This is a fan production. I have no association with any of the folks or companies involved in producing 'Stargate: Atlantis' and I am making no profit off this bit of scribbling. I do, however, admire their work.

Note: A day late and a penny short – I'm sorry for the delay. Here's the next part (does anybody feel like they're drowning in angst?) and the following section will be posted not this upcoming Thursday but the following one.

_Thank you for the reviews Sagey and Kaleklae_! I'm glad the emotions are coming through – this is a topic that people should get worked up over – and I hope you continue to enjoy the writing.

Have a great summer, guys!

* * *

><p><strong>Anamorphosis<strong>

**Part Nine**

Major Evan Lorne was a coward.

He told himself that – coward-coward-coward – repeatedly as he hurried away from the brig. He had told Yuri he was done wallowing, but one look through the glass at Fox's dark, dark eyes and Chatterton's words echoed in his head: How could a buddy regret...? Lorne wasn't ready to find out.

Lorne ducked his eyes away and nodded his thanks to the guard. The boy saluted, his face the solemn blank of the young trying to affect a gravitas they didn't really feel.

Lorne felt tight and hot and diminished under the combined gazes of the other men.

It wasn't running away. It was a tactical retreat. Until he could get his shit together and give it a second go.

He should talk to Heightmeyer. He needed to get his head shrunk.

He should talk to Sheppard. It sounded like Sheppard had been looking after Lorne's team while Lorne had been...negligent. Hiding. Licking his wounds.

And he should talk to Beckett. He had ignored all the comm's from the doctor and there were things...things he needed to know. Becket must have the blood test results by now.

Lorne shuddered. He hadn't thought about that since the first time he woke up. He hadn't even spent a moment on it. Suddenly it seemed like the most pressing thing on his mind. How could he have put it aside so easily?

He hadn't wanted to think about it.

Lorne touched his comm. "Dr. Beckett?"

"Major Lorne!" Beckett sounded ridiculously fervent, like he was just so glad to hear Lorne's voice. He probably was. Beckett and Heightmeyer probably got together over tea and discussed it. Lorne had a sudden, ridiculous mental image of Beckett and Heightmeyer and the command team – Sheppard and Weir and McKay for good measure – dressed in costume and seated around the Mad Hatter's tea table.

"It's good to hear your voice, lad." Beckett said, and the image dissipated. "I have your results. You're..."

"Not over the comm.," Lorne interrupted hurriedly, then winced at how breathless he sounded. "I'll come to your office. Is now a good time?"

"Now's a great time," There was a horrible, jovial relief in the doctor's voice. "I'll be here."

"Thanks," Lorne let his hand fall and began walking across Atlantis. He retraced the steps he had taken on that first day – when the drugs had softened the ache in his body and he hadn't realized the full extent of things: not the constant, sucking black hole this whole thing was going to grow to be, not the way people would look at him or touch him or think about him, not the way his whole team was being taken down by this.

"Alice down the rabbit hole," Lorne muttered, and then shut up. He had read somewhere once that talking to yourself was the first sign of insanity.

Beckett was waiting in his office when Lorne arrived; he was sitting behind his desk pretending to read through a slim manila file and failing badly. Really, Lorne knew he had been watching the door because the moment Lorne walking in Beckett's eyes fixed on him and the man dropped all pretences.

"Evan," Beckett said, and whoo-boy, did alarm bells ever go ringing at the use of Lorne's first name. "Have a seat." Beckett gestured to the chair across from him then actually got up and shut the door behind Lorne.

Lorne's spine started to itch.

"How have you been?"

There should be a moratorium on that damn question. Really. It should be banned and forbidden in all languages.

"Fine."

"I would like to do a check up – just to make sure everything's healing nicely." Beckett's gaze swept over Lorne's face and Lorne thought about the similar bite marks across his shoulders, about the scratches and the bruises.

"Everything's fine," Lorne said. The thought of Becket looking at him with such clinical detachment made his skin crawl. Everything was fine. It was fading; it was going away.

"Just to be on the safe side," Beckett insisted. "Just to be sure."

Lorne stared at him in mulish silence.

Beckett sighed. "Obviously I cannot make you do anything you don't want to do, but as your doctor I am recommending a follow-up. Please keep that in mind." Beckett fiddled with the edge of the folder nervously. "Kate told me you were in to see her," he said after blatantly getting his courage up. "But that you didn't stay very long. Have you considered going for a second visit?"

Oh, God. They really did get together and talk about him.

There must have been some look on his face, because Beckett back peddled in clear alarm. "No! Oh, no. She didn't tell me anything, not a thing about what you talked about. But we do exchange information that may affect the health of a patient and Kate said she would like me to ask you to check in with her, if I got the chance. That's all! We both take patient confidentiality very serious, Major Lorne. Neither of us would break it. I promise you that."

"Cut to the chase, Doctor." Lorne interrupted. "You got my results?"

"Yes! Yes. Err," Beckett flipped the folder open then spun it around for Lorne to look at. Lorne looked.

Beckett wrote like a friggin' doctor.

After a moment, Lorne raised an eyebrow at Beckett.

Becket blushed. "Yes, well," he twisted the paper work back around to himself. But he didn't read it. He determinedly held Lorne's gaze instead, with that ridiculously boyish sincerity that so characterized the doctor. "All your blood work came back clean."

"Oh," Lorne said. All the air deflated out of his lungs and he buried his face in his hands, suddenly overcome with a release of tension he hadn't even realized he's been holding onto.

After a moment, Lorne took in a deep breath and raised his head.

"Good. That's good."

"Yes," Beckett agreed, kindly ignoring the momentary break in Lorne's composure. "We'll have to do some more tests in a few months, to make sure nothing develops, but this is a very good start. Chances are, at this point, nothing will develop."

"Okay," Lorne agreed helplessly. It was just one more thing on his list of things he didn't want to think about.

"I," Beckett cleared his throat. "I know your blood work came up clean, but I still recommend you refrain from any sexual contact until we clear you on the second tests."

That...wasn't going to be a problem. At this point, that was a total non issue.

He really, really doubted his body was capable of being anything but frigid right now.

"Okay." Lorne said again. He didn't want to talk about any of that with Dr. Beckett. But Beckett looked at him like he could read Lorne's mind. There was a terrible sympathy on his face.

"Okay!" Lorne repeated like an idiot, and bolted to his feet so gracelessly the chair smacked into the wall. "Is that everything?"

"Yes, lad." Beckett said, and the endearment was as much a 'sweetheart', 'babydoll', or 'darling' as any endearment applied to a teary-eyed child.

Lorne got the hell out of Beckett's office.

Fuck the doctor's sympathy.


	10. Anamorphosis ten

**Anamorphosis**

Disclaimer: This is a fan production. I have no association with any of the folks or companies involved in producing 'Stargate: Atlantis' and I am making no profit off this bit of scribbling. I do, however, admire their work.

Author's note: Thank you _Sagey, VoicesInTheWind, Stormwolf, and June_. This really isn't the kind of thing I ever thought I'd try to write, and every word of encouragement is a helping hand – I appreciate your patience!

**Anamorphosis**

**Part ten**

He didn't go back to his room. The place had started to take on a subtle, sour smell and he hadn't quite figured out what to do about it yet. He needed to wash his sheets, and do a load of laundry, and leave to door open for a while until the room aired out. But if he left the door open, everyone who walked by would be able to see inside. They'd look, too. They wouldn't be able to help it, because humans were rubber-necking vultures by nature.

He'd have looked, if it hadn't been him.

Lorne needed to prioritize. He hadn't seemed to be able to manage that lately. He was...he was angry. It was hard to recognize, because it wasn't a sharp, biting anger. It was a dull, enduring thing that wore away at all his edges and left him feeling exhausted and resentful. He felt a little like a sullen teenager for the first time in his life– trying to contain all that bitter animosity and trying to sound grown up and utterly failing. It put him on edge. All he wanted to do was get away before he said or did something stupid.

Don`t talk to me like that. I`m not a child. I`m not an idiot, or an after school special, or even a real victim because I don`t fucking remember anything! It doesn`t count if you don`t remember anything.

Yeah. That would be a stupid thing to say.

"Major?"

Kate Heightmeyer hesitated. She had obviously not been expecting to see Lorne when the transporter door slid open and the indecision on her pretty face was plain.

She must have read something on Lorne's face because her mouthed firmed into a determined line and she stepped away from the transporter, right into Lorne's space. Something a little like lightning shot through Lorne's nerves when she clasped a guiding hand around his elbow.

"Major, I was just going to find a quiet place to take my lunch." She was holding a small bag in her free hand. "It's such a lovely day out. I thought a spot in the sunshine would be nice. Would you join me?"

Her voice was even and smooth. There was no question in her tone.

"Don't I need to make an appointment?" Lorne joked weakly, remembering their last encounter. "I'd hate for this to become a thing." Had Becket called her after all? Had the doctor told her Lorne was just leaving his office? Had they planned this?

Heightmeyer smiled. "This is Atlantis, Major."

She started drifting down the hall, but didn't let go of Lorne's arm. For a second, he imagined jerking forcibly away from her touch. But he couldn't bring himself to do it and he ended up following helplessly along.

"It's not the most conventional place to ply my trade," Heightmeyer continued. "And certainly the people here are not the most conventional people. I have found it rather a benefit to resort to unconventional methods, upon occasion."

Lorne was being paranoid. Even if Becket had called Heightmeyer, she wouldn't have had enough time to pack a lunch, or get to that particular transporter. He was letting suspicion eat his brain.

"Otherwise, I fear I would spend a great deal of time alone in my office, wondering if I had forgotten to put on my deodorant."

Lorne laughed, and Heightmeyer flashed him a pleased smile.

"I have found," She continued after a moment. "That office hours and appointments only work if people are willing to attend them."

There was no reproach in her voice, but it cut anyway.

"I was planning on coming in." Lorne said defensively.

"Oh, good." Heightmeyer smiled serenely up at him, like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. "Then it's a good thing we ran into each other – you won't have to go to the trouble. How fortunate."

Damn. Damn. Damn. She was smooth.

"Uh, actually, now's not such a great time. I was just on my way to…" Lorne patted at the air to his left like an illustrative idiot and gawped for an excuse. Hightmeyer's expression never changed, her wide eyes broadcasting patient understanding. Lorne sighed. "Make up an excuse about collecting my laundry and possibly spend the rest of the day hiding in my room. Like a snotty teenager."

"I won't stop you. But I usually find that an excessive amount of time alone with dark thoughts is rarely conductive to healing."

Lorne snorted, casting his eyes at the ceiling in disgust. "Healing."

"Yes. That thing you do, when there's nothing else left to do."

"I can't even…" Lorne struggled, a terrible pressure stealing his words and stifling his ability cut through all the…the _bullshit_.

Heightmeyer sighed. "I have a cupcake. I'm willing to split it in half, if you come sit on the pier with me for an hour. We don't have to talk."

"You're trying to buy me with half a cupcake."

"Is it working?"

Lorne laughed, and scrubbed a hand across his face. "You've spent too much time with McKay."

Heightmeyer nodded solemnly. "Classic Stockholm syndrome." She renewed tugging Lorne gently down the corridor. "But I also have something very similar to a peanut butter sandwich, if that's more your style."

Lorne shook his head and let her lead him out to edge of the pier, where they sat on the edge and dangled their legs over the water. He turned down the sandwich, but did accept half the cupcake. It had icing on the top – a curious green shade that didn't look quite right. It tasted like cinnamon.

Heightmeyer was true to her word, turning her face up toward the sun and slowly working through her sandwich like every bite was a thought to contemplate. She ate without talking. It was Lorne who broke first.

"I went to see Beckett this morning."

Heightmeyer blinked at him, pleasant and noncommittal, like he commenting on the weather. "I'm sure he was pleased to see you."

"He suggested I speak to you."

"Really? Did he say why?"

Lorne stared at her in disbelief. "Gee," He said sarcastically and even as he said it, he didn't like himself. "I haven't the foggiest idea."

Heightmeyer arched an eyebrow.

Lorne looked away. "I'm sorry. I haven't been myself lately."

"I think I know the feeling. It's not easy, not being yourself."

"I…" The sun was glaring into his eyes and Lorne had to squint against it. He could feel moisture forming in his tear ducts in defense. "_I am so angry_. I wake up at night grinding my teeth, and then I lay awake, _thinking_. I am angry at Beckett. I hate the way he talks to me. I hate his _tone_. I hate how gentle he is with me, like I'm something fragile. I'm not."

Lorne scrubbed at his eyes. "I'm angry with Sheppard. That day – " Lorne wasn't making any sense, he knew. Heightmeyer wouldn't have a clue what day he was talking about. But Lorne was starting to work up a full head of steam and he found he couldn't stop himself. "That day outside my quarters – he talked to me. He looked – he _saw_! – and he didn't say anything, didn't warn me. I hate that he saw.

"And I'm angry with my team. They're falling apart, they're crashing and burning, and it's my fault.

"And I'm mad at everyone else because they all know and they all wear this expression on their faces and some of them walk around me like I have a personal space of ten feet and some of them stare and some of them pretend I don't even exist! People I've spoken to every single day since I first got here! And I know it doesn't make any sense, and I'm being illogical and contrary and_ stupid_…" Lorne choked, the words stuffing up his throat and strangling him. He turned his back on Heightmeyer and bit his knuckle.

"What about the people who did this to you?"

Lorne stiffened. He didn't turn around. "Wha-what?"

"The people who hurt you? Aren't you angry with them?"

Lorne stared at the sea in confusion, his heart pounding. "I don't…I hadn't…"

Heightmeyer didn't say anything else. She waited for Lorne to gather himself.

"They're dead." Lorne finally said. "I hadn't really thought about it."

"It's much easier to be angry with people who are here." Heightmeyer agreed. "Especially when they change the way they react to you based on something over which you have no control."

All the nervous, furious energy drained out of Lorne like a plug had been pulled, and he slumped forward. "I don't have any control." He admitted. "I don't even remember it. All I know is what other people saw, and what other people told me, and what other people think. It's a…damn monster, like one of those hydras – a new head every time I turn around and everybody else knows more than I do. I don't have a chance of putting this thing down."

Heightmeyer was silent for a long time. "Do you know how Hercules defeated the Hydra? Every time he cut off a head, he cauterized the wound so it wouldn't grow back." She chuckled self-deprecatingly. "I suppose I am carrying this metaphor too far. But I mean to say, it's going to be a battle, and even closing the wounds is going to hurt, and there will probably be days when you feel like you've lost something, like something's been amputated…and eventually, there'll come a day when you win. I promise you this, Evan."

Lorne sat with his back to Heightmeyer and struggled to hear her, to not simply let the dark, furious helplessness in him wash her words away. He breathed carefully through his nose, hands gripping his knees.

The sea tossed and spiked up white caps, and the sky overhead was a perfect blue. He closed his eyes, and tried very hard to believe.


End file.
